War of the Wood
by Cima1305
Summary: CONTAINS SLASH! Peter/Caspan. AU, sequel to BOUND TOGETHER BY FRAGILE DREAMS. Problems, political and otherwise, arise in Narnia.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of CS Lewis' books or characters or actors that play the characters.

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Chapter 1:

It was a cold, rainy night when King Caspian returned from his journey to Avra, riding his tired horse up to the gates of the castle as they were thrown open. The sleeping inhabitants of Cair Paravel were not expecting for yet another day, and those that heard the sound of hoof beats on the cobblestones were surprised. The reason they were so early was because the king had urged his party to make haste as soon as their ship had touched Narnian soil, and they had ridden without much rest for two days.

"Shall I send someone ahead to announce your arrival, Your Majesty?" one of the guards had asked, when they were near, but Caspian had refused.

"It must be after midnight. I don't want to wake the whole place," Caspian had said cheerily, though he was weary, cold, and cramped.

Page boys, footmen, and a parlor maid were roused, and the kitchen fires were quickly lit, once word spread that the king had returned. Gentlemen-in-waiting greeted the king as soon as he handed Destrier's reins off to a yawning stable boy. They offered to take his cloak and his boots, but he waved them off without a word, striding steadily through the empty, torch-lit halls and up flights of stairs.

Walking ahead of them all, he made his way past a pair of guards, who bowed when they saw him. He came to a doorway and with utmost care to be quiet, Caspian grasped the gilt handles of a doorway and pushed the doors of his chambers open. A gaggle of servants brushed past him so they could light candles, pour ale, and bring out rugs and fur throws, but a sharp, silent signal from the king sent them all scurrying back.

In his muddied boots and travel-stained cloak, Caspian walked across his apartments and to a second pair of doors, which he opened just as quietly, to his bedchamber.

He paused at the threshold to sigh in pleasure as his eyes drank in the sight he had longed to see. There, buried amidst a comforter in a canopied bed, was his beloved husband, whom he had missed so much.

Peter was turned on his side, his cheek pressed to the embroidered pillow, yellow hair falling across his forehead. An arm was thrown out across the mattress, embracing the empty space where Caspian usually slept.

As quietly as he could, Caspian tiptoed to the bed and sat at the edge. Gently, he stroked a hand over Peter's hair, lowering himself so that his lips skimmed the top of Peter's forehead. Pale eyelashes fluttered at the touch.

Stirring, Peter awoke and gasped softly when he saw Caspian above him. Blue eyes widened in loving recognition.

"Hello, Caspian," he breathed, reaching up to cup his husband's cheek.

"Peter," whispered Caspian, putting all the longing and homesickness of the past month into that name, so that his lips trembled when he said it.

The next moment, Peter was wrapping tight arms around his shoulders, bringing him close and kissing the breath out of him. He pulled Caspian down to lie next to him, cloak, boots, and all, crying and laughing: "You're home! You're finally home!"

And Caspian embraced Peter to his chest, feeling hot skin beneath the silk nightshirt, and buried his face in sweet-smelling hair, feeling as if he'd never want to let go.

It was only after this, as the two kings lay whispering and embracing, that the servants entered again. They set up a table, poured warm spiced wine into goblets, drew rugs and furs over the chairs, made a fire in the hearth, lit the braziers and candles, and drew hot water from the taps in the adjoining bathroom.

Half an hour later, Caspian sat across the table from Peter, having washed and dressed in comfortable clothes at last. The page boys brought them bread, hot veal broth, baked apples, butter, and a raisin pastry, a small supper hurriedly put together by the sleepy kitchen staff.

Peter sat wrapped up in his husband's traveling cloak, not minding that it was still damp from the rain. He nursed a cup of hot cider, smiling as Caspian ate up the hot food with a grateful sigh.

Oblivious to the stiff-backed gentlemen-in-waiting standing around the room, they were lost in their own happy world, staring into each other's eyes with utter contentment and holding hands.

"How did you like Avra?" Peter inquired, putting both his feet in Caspian's lap, and Caspian signaled one of the page boys to bring a blanket so that Peter's toes wouldn't get chilled.

"I liked it very well," replied the king, after the blanket had been administered and tucked in. "It was good to see Lord Bern again. The people of the Lone Islands have been much better off since he was made Duke. He tells me the trade has improved greatly in Narrowhaven, with merchants from all over Narnia, Archenland, and Calormen going there to buy and sell. And that the slave trade has been wiped out, except for a few illicit dealings that are usually uncovered."

"That's wonderful," said Peter. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I can't believe you're actually here, sitting in front of me. It feels like you've been gone for years."

"Did you miss me very much?"

"Every minute of every day."

Caspian smiled warmly and kissed Peter's hand. The fire was soothing and the cider felt warm in his belly. As grand as Lord Bern's estates had been, it was the comfort of home that was the most luxurious of all, especially in the company of his beloved.

"And how is Queen Susan?" Caspian inquired.

"I'm afraid she's been bit melancholy, lately," Peter said, sighing. He set his mug down and spoke his next words with some difficulty. "A few days ago, I found her in the nursery again. She was rifling through the linens and things."

Caspian breath caught at this. "It's been five years," he said sadly, shaking his head.

"I know," said Peter, "but I don't think she ever stopped mourning. It grieves me to see her like this, and I know it grieves Rynelf as well. He tries so hard to make her happy, you know, and it hurts him as much as it hurts her, perhaps even more. Poor man."

"I know."

They drifted into silence at the mention of Susan's painful memories. The servants started clearing away the used dishes, refilling their cups with cider and wine, lighting more candles. Caspian saw Peter's brow wrinkle with a frown, and he squeezed Peter's toes lightly, smiling.

"And how's Lucy been?" Caspian asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Oh, you know how it is with her," Peter said with a laugh. "Different week, different beau. She knows I don't like it, but… she's happy, and with Susan feeling so dull lately… well, I figure it's best to be happy while you can. Did you know, there was a little archery tournament just the other day. She won, of course, and that got her even more admirers.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, Edmund's coming home next week and she's ridden out to meet him on the way."

"Is that so? It'll be good to see Edmund again. I've missed him."

"Yes, me too. It's been so long since he was home."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence again. The fire was crackling merrily on the hearth and Caspian felt himself grow drowsy with the warmth and the wine. Peter looked beautiful and rosy-cheeked by the firelight and Caspian felt a coil of desire as he saw Peter propped his face on one hand, the movement exposing his fair neck.

Caspian was just about to suggest they go to bed when Peter cleared his throat softly and sat up a little. His eyes were lowered.

"You haven't asked how Rilian is," Peter said quietly.

"Oh. Must've slipped my mind. How is he, then?" Suddenly, he wasn't quite so comfortable anymore.

"Very well!" Peter said, smiling immediately, as if Caspian had given him some kind of gift. "He's doing brilliantly in his lessons. All his tutors tell me that he's very bright, and modest too. And he loves music! Yesterday, he told me he wanted to learn to play on the virginals 'like Aunt Lucy does' and I think we should let him start learning. Maybe we can have a small set specially made for him?"

"Um… well, I'm glad that he's-"

"Oh, I should send for him now! He's been missing you for weeks, always asking for you. You should see him. I think he's grown another inch since you've left."

"Peter, it's the middle of the night!" Caspian protested, as Peter waved for a page to summon Prince Rilian's nurse. "I'm sure there's time enough tomorrow."

"No, it's alright," Peter insisted. "I promised him I'd get him right away as soon as you returned."

Peter was so animated Caspian was loathe to disappoint him. A few minutes later, the nurse came into the room in her dressing gown, holding Prince Rilian by the hand. The child's face lit up when he saw Caspian seated there, and looked as if he would very much like to dash forward to be hugged, but had to restrain himself.

"Go on, Rilian," Peter urged with a gentle smile. "Just like we practiced."

Holding his breath and looking like he was concentrating very hard, Rilian stepped up and dipped low into a formal, courtly bow towards Caspian and managed to straighten up without wobbling too much.

"Welcome back to Cair Paravel, Your Majesty," chirped the little prince. "I am most happy that you have returned safely from your journey."

Rilian glanced quickly at Peter afterwards as if checking to see if he had made any mistakes, and beamed when Peter nodded and smiled.

"Very good," Caspian said, genuinely pleased.

With a happy little cry, Rilian rushed over to Caspian and put his hands on the king's knees, looking up into his cousin's face. Moved by the child's sweet face, Caspian patted the head of dark curls affectionately as Rilian laid his head on Caspian's lap. He looked closely and noted that Rilian's face was still round with baby fat. Though the child seemed to have inherited Prunaprismia's eyes, Caspian wondered darkly if that adorable face would eventually sharpen into a likeness of Miraz.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "I'm sure Rilian should go back to bed now, as it's very late. We should retire too, Peter."

Caspian stood and Rilian's nurse came forward to take the prince by the hand again, but the little prince squirmed out of her grasp so he could run to Peter for a goodnight hug and kiss.

As Peter cooed, kissed both Rilian's cheeks, tickled his belly, and hugged him close, the servants began to clear away the leftovers. The prince turned in Peter's arms to stare longingly at the last sweet-smelling red apple.

"Papa, can I have that?" he asked, pointing a chubby finger.

Peter flushed immediately and glanced quickly at Caspian. The other king had stiffened at the familiar title Rilian used.

Peter drew the child close and hissed, "I told you not to call me that when he's here!"

Rilian's eyes went wide and he gasped shrilly, clapping a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry!" he cried. "I didn't mean to!" His face was the perfect picture of hurt and contrition.

Peter sighed. "It's alright, it's alright," he soothed, patting the dark curls. "Just don't forget again."

He had the nurse wrap up the last apple in a handkerchief and send Rilian to bed. The gentlemen-in-waiting and page boys followed them out shortly afterwards. The room was now silent with just the two of them, and what relaxed comfort there was before had become awkward and tense.

"_Papa_?" Caspian repeated, looking at Peter, who flushed again. "Is that what he calls you?"

"It's just a name," Peter said softly, looking down into his lap.

"It's not just a name if that boy actually thinks you're his father," he snapped, then regretted it when he saw Peter flinch. Caspian made a weary-sounding groan and rubbed his eyes. "Look, we can talk about it tomorrow. Let's just go to bed. I'm tired. I've had a long journey, remember?" There was a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Briskly, Caspian blew out the candles on the table and turned to go to bed. After a moment's hesitation, Peter followed.

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Notes: So there it is! Thanks so much for reading this and my previous fic!! As always, plz plz feedback and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of CS Lewis' books or characters or actors that play the characters.

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Chapter 2:

Caspian had seen many beautiful summer days in his life, but this afternoon was especially exquisite. They were resting in a sunlit meadow. The air was sweet and the rays of the sun warmed his skin, peeling away the layers of melancholy. He put his hand up in the sunlight, trying to hold it _just there_ so that if he squinted, he could pretend he was carrying a ball of golden fire in his palm.

The grass was sweet-smelling and thick as a carpet beneath him. It was a relief to strip down to his linen shirt and bare feet, and to just lie on the ground, not worrying about a thing in the world.

Peter was nearby, playing with the Rilian, and Caspian smiled at his husband's cheery laughter. They were having a footrace, and Peter was running deliberately slow so the little prince could reach the tree first, tumbling to the ground in a fit of giggles.

The button at Peter's collar had fallen loose, his shirt slipping to expose one shoulder. Caspian knew the skin was warm and sweet, and he wanted to reach out and touch, but was content to languish on his back for the moment and watch. A breeze was blowing, stirring the crown of gold hair on Peter's head so that it fanned his rosy cheeks with every movement.

"You beat me again!" Peter said breathlessly, as Rilian won the race with a shriek of triumph. Caspian marveled at the look of pure adoration on Peter's face. It was a touching sight, the golden prince and the dusky child playing together in a field of sun-kissed grass.

Caspian felt like they had been here their whole lives, doing nothing but this, relaxing, breathing in the sweet Narnian air, and being utterly content. He looked up into the brilliantly blue sky and tried to pick out shapes in the fluffy white clouds.

A terrible cry startled Caspian out of his reverie, and he stood to see what was the matter. Peter was there, pale and wide-eyed, with a look of such startled anguish that it frightened Caspian.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he asked. Peter's face was white as paper, his mouth twisted into a pained grimace. A whisper escaped from between those colorless lips.

"I'm bleeding."

And he was. To Caspian's horror, blood began trickling in steady streams from the lines of that horrid scar, making the brand stand out bright red on the pale cheek. Blood started pouring from his nose and mouth, bursting in thick gushes from his eyes. Peter opened his mouth in a silent scream, and held his hands up so that Caspian could see that the seams of his fingernails were bleeding too.

Caspian couldn't move or scream. He couldn't even close his eyes to block out the terrifying image…

"_Your Majesty! Wake up!_"

Someone was shaking him.

"N-no! Oh, no…"

There was blood everywhere and he couldn't stop it.

"Your Majesty, please!" More shaking.

With a choked-off scream that died into a gasp, Caspian jerked awake and found himself tangled in sweaty blankets. His manservant was still gripping his shoulder, looking alarmed.

"Are you alright, Sire?"

"Some water," Caspian mumbled, running a shaking hand over his face. As the servant ran to fill a cup, Caspian hastily looked over at Peter's side of the bed, half-expecting to find bloodstained sheets. But his husband wasn't there, nor anywhere else in the room.

"Where's Peter?" inquired the king, after he had gulped down most of the water that the servant brought him.

"King Peter rose early. He wanted me to tell you that he would see you later today."

With a groan, Caspian realized that he had overslept and that Peter would already be up and about. They had gone to sleep on a rather uncomfortable note the night before, which made Caspian suspicious that perhaps Peter was put out with him. That, coupled with his disturbing nightmare, created an uneasy churning in his stomach. He wanted to see his husband, badly.

Tossing the covers aside, Caspian stood to get dressed.

* * *

In a court where ladies' necklines dipped low and bodices were laced tightly to accentuate bosoms, Queen Susan's collar remained stubbornly high. Buttons held her neckline close to her throat and her sleeves went past her wrists. A plain girdle, belted snugly, hinted at a girlish waist, above a set of voluminous skirts that flowed all the way down to her feet.

She wore no braids or curls, and no jewels in her ears or on her neck. Besides her gold crown and wedding ring, gracefully arched eyebrows and a pair of full red lips were her only ornaments.

In the Great Hall at Cair Paravel, her throne sat to the lower left of Caspian's, but she preferred to stand most of the time. She was pacing back and forth that morning, as the Lord Chancellor and the other officials debated on the affairs in Northern Narnia.

"Your Majesty, we have received continuous reports of giants raiding the farms in the Northern Frontage," Cornelius said. "While these people have been peaceful towards Narnia in the past, I fear that such recent shows of hostility cannot be allowed to go on. We must send reinforcements to the north and then contact the leader of the giants for a peace council."

"Perhaps their lands are growing sparse," suggested another, "and they are raiding the Northern Frontage for food. If so, we might find it advantageous to aid them by supplying resources. That would at once put them in our debt, and therefore our friendship, and stop all acts of hostility."

The queen cleared her throat and turned to face them. An almost-visible cringe seemed to sweep through those assembled, as if they already knew what she would say.

"There will be no peace council, or aid," said Susan. "If we are to believe these reports, then what the giants are declaring is open war. Hostility shall be met with hostility."

"But your majesty, surely we must talk with their leader first-"

"We don't _talk _with barbarians, sir," she interrupted. "If these people have attacked our villages to the north, then they have committed a grave offense against all of Narnia. We must deploy troops as soon as we are able, in order to counter them." She drew herself up tall, looking quite imperious. Her whole body tensed as if she were a taut bowstring ready to launch her next words like an arrow.

But before she could speak again, a cry went up from the end of the Hall: "His Majesty, the King Caspian!" She gave a startled little gasp and whirled around to stare at the entrance.

Caped and crowned, the Telmarine king strode in, flanked by his gentlemen and his guards. Looking impressive as always, he walked the length of the Hall while the people parted and bowed before him with sighs of, "Your Majesty."

He stopped before his throne and turned to Susan.

"Madam," he said respectfully, bowing to her with his hand at his waist. For awhile, she stared at him with unblinking eyes.

Then, as the people held their breaths, her features relaxed and she smiled. "My king," she greeted in return. She bent her knees just a little, gave the slightest sway of her shoulders, the tiniest toss of her embroidered skirts: a gesture that was meant to be a curtsey. "You are home early. I was not expecting you to arrive so soon."

"Yes, well," he replied, "I was most eager to come home again."

"Perhaps later you will tell us all about your journey to the Lone Islands?"

"Of course," said Caspian, nodding. He turned and lowered himself regally onto his throne while Susan remained standing. "Please, my Lords, if you will be so kind as to repeat to me the news of the Northern Frontage raids?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said Cornelius, smiling warmly. "It is good to see that you have returned safely," he added, before starting to recite the reports once again. Soon, the Lords' voices were overlapping and echoing as they once again fell into the discussion about the giants.

As the officials droned on, Caspian looked at the empty throne to his right, then scanned the entire Hall for Peter. His husband wasn't there.

"Susan," he whispered, and she walked up so that he could talk into her ear. "Where is he?"

"Oh, you know," she replied, with a little shrug. It meant what both of them had come to expect: that Peter had abandoned the castle walls in favor of riding out so he could take a more hands-on approach to governing the land. He would often ride through the villages and take up people's petitions in person, meeting with the local magistrates and mayors to personally oversee matters in Narnia.

"What, alone?" Caspian queried.

"No," she said, with a sardonic twist of the lips. "The Prince Consort is with him."

His eyes took another perfunctory sweep around the room and noted that Rynelf was absent as well. He frowned.

"Oh, I see."

* * *

Rynelf smiled as he rode behind Peter. He couldn't take his eyes off the young king, loving the way the sun glinted on blond hair and flushed cheeks. Peter's mouth was open in a thrilled, breathless laugh, the kind that he only made when his thighs gripped the flanks of his mare and the wind was blowing through his hair while they galloped over the Narnian hills.

Peter turned in the saddle to face Rynelf and Rynelf quickly hid the tender smile he was so brazenly displaying.

"We're almost there!" the king called, beaming.

They reached a grassy glade near Omaru and Rynelf dismounted first, casting a wary glance at their surroundings. Though Narnia had been more or less in peace for the past few years, there were always enemies who would wish King Peter harm, and so Rynelf always kept a hand close to his sword belt whenever he accompanied Peter outside the castle walls.

"Don't look so nervous," Peter said cheerfully, taking the time to unsaddle his horse so she could roll around in the cool grass. "We're only here to meet with the centaurs. I doubt there are any assassins here."

"My apologies, Your Majesty. I can't seem to help it," said Rynelf, laughing a bit when he realized he was holding his sword hilt in a vise-like grip and glaring at every piece of shrubbery within striking distance.

"I know," said Peter. "You're a good friend, Rynelf. I always feel safer when you're with me." The young king smiled and touched Ryenlf's arm. He had meant to sound lighthearted and playful, but to Rynelf, the honey scent of flowers grew just a little bit sweeter and the grass just a few shades greener at those soft words.

Rynelf started when he heard hoof beats from afar, then relaxed when he realized it was the centaurs they had come to meet.

"My noble friend, Suncloud," Peter greeted their chieftain as they approached.

"Hail, King!" cried Suncloud, who was a beautiful, broad-shouldered creature with golden-brown flanks and golden hair. "My kin and I are most grateful that you agreed to this council."

"You are most welcome," Peter replied, and the centaur bowed his head in solemn respect while the others did the same. "For what reason did you want to meet with me, sir?"

Suncloud looked grave. "Though my heart is glad that I am in your presence, my king, I am grieved to say that I come for a complaint."

"A complaint? Against whom?" Peter demanded.

"Against you, Your Majesty."

"_Me_?" cried Peter. "What offense could I possibly have committed against you or your kin?"

Rynelf was shocked as well. The centaurs had always been on good terms with King Peter, if not for his own merits, then because of his relation to Queen Susan.

"There are lands to the west of the River Rush, woods and glens that have always remained sacred to our people. Our ancestors have watched the skies there, studying the movements of each star and planet since before even the Golden Age of Narnia. Every joy and every terrible thing that ever happened on earth, our prophets and star-gazers first witnessed in these places, where starlight and moonlight shine the brightest.

When the Telmarine barbarians first invaded, centuries ago, we were forced to flee. Then, Aslan returned and with the Great Battle, peace was restored once again. My kin returned to these sacred places and our hearts rejoiced that the ways of old would continue.

But a few days ago, a group of Telmarines came to our woods and cut down our trees. They built houses on the grounds that our people have roamed for centuries. They hunted animals who have sought refuge in these ancient lands for generations, and they took fish from the rivers that were older than before their own forefathers ever set foot in Narnia.

They took the land and used the land without respect, without care. When I and my sons confronted them, they claimed that they were given leave to settle in these woods by _you_, King Peter. And only because of our love for you did we allow them to stay so long, though I was angry with them and would have gladly fought them until they were all slain."

"Well," said Peter, looking quite grim, "I'm glad you did not, because that would have been both rash and unkind."

"So is it true, then?" one of the younger centaurs spoke up. "Were you the one who allowed those Telmarines to invade our woods?"

Peter was silent, frowning at the accusation. Rynelf stared at Peter, waiting for the king to deny it. To his surprise, no denial came.

"If I have offended your people," Peter said to Suncloud, "then I am sorry. I cannot claim ignorance, for I knew what these woods meant to you. In my defense, I have held council with your leader, Glenstorm, about this and he has agreed that considering the circumstances, such allowances could be made. It was my mistake to assume that all centaurs would know of this, and for that I am sorry."

There was a silence following his words and the centaurs looked very hostile, as if they were restraining themselves from shouting out in anger.

"And why, Your Majesty, did you allow the Telmarines to defile our land?" said Suncloud, in a low voice.

"Telmarines?" said Peter, and Rynelf could see the king's shoulders stiffen. "They may be descended from people of Telmar but they are Narnians, just as we are. Aslan himself made it clear that Narnia was to belong to Talking Beasts _as well as Men_. And as for the said defilement, did these people fell any talking trees?"

"No, sire."

"Did they murder any talking animals?"

"No."

"And of the animals they did kill, did they kill for sport or for food?"

"I did not see them kill for sport."

"And did they take anything that was more than what they needed? Did they waste? Steal?"

"No."

"And did they come in such great numbers that your kin had no place left to watch the stars?"

"No."

"Then there was no defilement."

"The humans' very presence is insulting!" shouted one of the others. "No Man has ever been allowed to make his home in these woods! King Peter, hasn't Aslan Himself charged you with protecting Narnia, after we have suffered-"

"These woods are _fertile_," Peter interrupted, frowning. "I gave these people leave to farm and hunt there because their homes were destroyed, either in the war or by Miraz's thoughtless greed. You Old Narnians weren't the only ones who suffered under the Telmarine kings. They were starving, sick, and dying because Miraz's soldiers pillaged and murdered their people just as they did ours."

"But surely there must have been other places for them to go!"

"Go?" Peter said with a short laugh. "Don't you understand? These people had _nothing_. Should I have sent them trekking across the country just to scratch out a pitiful living where nothing grows? Or to another wealthier village where they'll have no trade or means to support themselves?"

Suncloud stamped the grassy ground with his hoof, squaring his shoulders so that he was practically radiating indignation. "Your Majesty, we centaurs have always been loyal to you, as we were charged by the Great Lion to be faithful and good to our king. But you seem to have forgotten Aslan's charge to _you_, to restore Narnia to its former beauty and glory and being kind to us Talking Beasts. You were supposed to bring back the older, wiser ways but instead, you allowed the one thing we have all fought to prevent: Telmarines have once again invaded our wood, which has been steeped in history and tradition for longer than we've been alive. No matter what their circumstances were, they have violated the sacredness of this place. They must leave!"

Peter's face colored rapidly and Rynelf could see that the king was dangerously close to being furious. The blond stepped up close to Suncloud and looked the centaur in the eye, though he was at least a few head shorter.

"Sacredness? What parts these woods are sacred? The trees? The grass? The water?"

"Yes! All that and more. The very air is precious to us."

"More precious than the life of a child? Or his family?"

Suncloud had nothing to say to that, but his tail flicked angrily.

Peter sighed. "I don't wish to create trouble between our races. The Telmarines came to me for aid, and whatever I did, I did out of duty and love. With that, I have caused you grief, and I am sorry. What can I do?"

"It is my wish, and the wish of my kin, that you remove these people from our forest."

"No," said Peter. "They stay. If they are able to live in peace with you, then they stay. But if they violate any laws by killing a talking tree or hunting talking animals, then I will order that they find homes elsewhere. But for now, they stay."

The king and the centaur glared at each other, and Rynelf found his hand once again straying to his sword hilt. The others looked dangerous. Hands were clenching into fists, hooves were striking the ground and dragging furrows into the earth, and eyes were blazing with anger. Still, Peter stood his ground, refusing to budge or break eye contact, even when Suncloud walked up so close that they were almost touching.

Finally, after a few tense moments, Suncloud backed away a few paces and bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I bid you farewell." With a swift, sharp hand motion, he turned and galloped away, his followers behind him.

Rynelf didn't realize he was holding his breath until they all left and he let it out in a huge sigh. He unclenched his hand from the hilt of his sword and looked at Peter, who still hadn't moved from where he was standing. The king looked sad.

"We should go," Peter said softly. He turned to pick up the saddle and whistled for his mare.

"Was that wise, Your Majesty?" Rynelf asked worriedly. "The centaurs might not easily forgive what they think is an offence."

Peter sighed again and patted his horse on her pretty white nose. "Do you know, I wonder, what it's like to starve?"

"I…"

"I do. I _have _starved and watched my sisters and brother starve. Do you know what it's like to watch your baby sister waste away until she's nothing but bones? What's it's like to wonder if sweet little Princess Lucy would survive the next winter, with the hunger and cold and disease and filth all around you? I do, and I will not be so cruel as to let others suffer the same."

The young king shivered and leaned against his mare's neck, hiding his head in the snow-white mane. He wrapped his arms around the animal as if bracing himself for a blow. Rynelf could see him biting his lip, and the Telmarine wanted very badly to take Peter into his arms.

The wind blew and ruffled Peter's clothes, pushing the fabric up against the king's body. Rynelf could see the outline of his arm, the shape of his back, how it shuddered with each breath. He swallowed. He could smell the scent of Peter's skin and hair.

Peter straightened suddenly and Rynelf dropped his hand, lighting-fast, not even realizing that he had reached out to touch.

"We should go," Peter said again, starting to strap on the saddle. "Caspian will be wondering where I am."

* * *

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that Caspian saw Peter again. He found his husband in the queen's chambers, sitting and plucking at a lute while Thomas the musician taught him a new song. Rynelf and Susan were sitting near the window and he was reading quietly to her while she lounged on her sofa. For awhile, Caspian leaned against the doorway, watching them.

Peter was stroking the strings with his long, slim fingers, head bowed over the instrument, soft lips parted in a smile. The window was open and the rosy light from the sunset gilded his honey-colored hair, his lashes and brows. The Narnian king, who always hated to be restrained, had discarded his jacket and velvet cape, which lay in a heap on another chair. He sat in his thin linen shirt, which was so soft and white that the sunlight made it nearly transparent.

He may as well be naked, Caspian thought. He could see the exact shape of Peter's body, how his belly flexed as he stretched, even the dusky pinkness of Peter's nipples pressing against the fabric as the blond arched his back. Caspian could see the laces at Peter's throat shift with his pulse.

Caspian's quick glance towards the window confirmed that he wasn't the only one looking. Rynelf, devoted though he was to his task, kept looking up from the inked words to steal a glance at the blond Narnian. Caspian saw that Rynelf's hands trembled slightly with each page turn, and that the burn on his friend's cheek was not just a reflection of the sunset.

Peter strummed the lute, filling the room with the pleasant hum of music.

"Touch by touch, breath by breath…" he sang softly, eyelashes fluttering as if in a dream.

Clearing his throat, Caspian stepped into the parlor. As Thomas stood up and bowed deeply, Peter's eyes lit up and he smiled.

"Caspian!" he breathed, getting up and taking his husband's hands. Though Caspian flushed at such a public display, Peter leaned close and kissed his lips. How is it, Caspian thought, heart thumping, that a kiss could taste so sweet?

"I missed you," said Peter, eyes shining with love.

"I missed you, too," Caspian replied. Peter looked so happy to see him that Caspian hated that he was bringing bad news. Stalling for time, he called over the serving maid to pour some wine. After they drank and talked pleasantly for awhile, Caspian cleared his throat and said, "I need to talk with you about something."

Susan sat up from where she was lounging. She looked at Rynelf, and as if some unspoken signal was given, the Prince Consort closed the book, stood, and left the room. Thomas followed, and so did the serving maid.

"What is it?" Susan asked, coming over to sit at the table with them. Peter looked a bit worried at his somber mood.

"I have just had a message from Glenstorm. It seems that Peter had managed to offend his nephew, Suncloud, and his kin in the Shuddering Wood."

"Oh," said Peter, sighing. "That."

"Suncloud's people claim that you have both abused your power as a king and disregarded your duty to protect and uphold the centaurs' right to their land," said Caspian. "Is this true?"

"Perhaps," Peter huffed, pushing back his chair and getting up to pour another glass of wine. "But I only distributed _some_ of their precious land to the people from one of the outlying villages."

"That was a foolish thing to do!" snapped Caspian, annoyed at Peter's flippant tone. "You know how the centaurs feel about tradition. Such a thing would obviously have upset them."

"Those villagers needed a home more than Suncloud needed to star-gaze!" Peter snapped back. "I did what I thought was right!"

"Without consulting me. It was a big decision to have made, Peter, and you should not have made it on your own!"

"So you agree with them, then. You think I have abused my power." Peter's eye narrowed dangerously and he pressed his mouth into a thin line. Caspian groaned in frustration.

"_No_, Peter-"

"I didn't think that such an obvious choice needed your approval and I don't think that helping people is an abuse!"

"Well, what do we _do__, _then?" Susan interrupted, tapping her fingers lazily on the table top. "What does Glenstorm want? What does his nephew want?"

"Glenstorm just wants the situation appeased," sighed Caspian. "And Suncloud wants the Telmarines out of his woods. He wants a complete relocation."

"Oh, 'his' woods, indeed," scoffed Peter. "Does he have a deed for the whole Shuddering Wood?"

"This is no laughing matter," said Caspian sternly. "The centaurs have always been our most loyal friends. They fought with us during the war and without their help, we might very well have lost! You should not have offended them. We will have to evict the villagers."

"No, out of the question!"

Susan sat calmly, looking back and forth between her brother and brother-in-law as they argued. Her eyes were cool and calculating. Just as the debated escalated to a shouting match, she stood gracefully and went to stand beside Peter.

"I agree with my brother," said Susan, putting her hand on Peter's shoulder. Caspian was taken aback by her quiet yet firm statement. He looked at them from across the table, the two siblings, joined in their decision against him. Two pairs of blue eyes stared back, Susan's, cool, and Peter's, impassioned. He stared at their faces, one flushed and one calm.

"Fine," said Caspian, feeling absolutely galled. "I see. That's the way it is, then."

Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked out.

"Wait, Caspian…" Peter called, and tried to grab his sleeve, but Caspian pulled away. Angrily, he stomped through the halls of Cair Paravel until he reached the armory. Picking out a sword, he made his way to the courtyard so he could work off his anger with exercise.

By nightfall, Caspian was still out of humor with Peter and Susan. They hardly spoke over dinner and later that night, after they had both dressed for bed, Caspian sat up at his desk and wrote a letter to Glenstorm by candlelight.

Sometime near midnight, Peter shuffled into his study, wearing a dressing gown.

"Come to bed, love," said Peter.

"You go ahead," Caspian replied shortly. "I'll be there when I'm done." His quill scratched loudly on the paper and he dipped it in the inkwell again.

"What are you writing?" Peter asked, coming up behind him to read over his shoulder.

"A letter to Glenstorm. Trying to fix the mess that _you _created."

"Oh, Caspian," sighed Peter, "pleased don't be angry at me anymore. We shouldn't be fighting after you've just returned from being away so long. Come to bed."

When Caspian didn't reply, Peter pressed close and started kneading his shoulders.

"Hmm, you're so tense," Peter murmured. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Caspian's neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his ear.

"Come to bed," Peter whispered huskily. Caspian could tell by his husband's hitching breath and hot hands that Peter wanted to make love. Normally, he would have delighted at the idea, but he was too foul-tempered that night. The thought of Peter's naked desire annoyed him.

"I _said _I'll come later," Caspian grouched, shrugging off the passionate caresses. Peter froze at his icy tone, then straightened up.

"Oh, fine," he huffed, then drew his dressing gown tight about himself and left the room.

An hour later, Caspian finished his letter. The candle had burned low and he blinked in the dim light. He looked around the dark, empty room, shivering a bit at the chill. As he drew his robe tighter about his shoulders, he realized that his anger had cooled. He began to feel just a bit guilty for having been short with Peter.

He got up, stretched his cramped muscles, and made his way through the suite to their bedchamber. Now, the idea of snuggling with Peter between the sheets was more appealing.

"Peter?" he called softly, stepping into their bedroom. He found Peter sprawled face-down over most of the bed, snoring loudly.

"Um, Peter?" Caspian whispered, trying to sound seductive. He edged his way onto the mattress and leaned over his husband, lightly caressing the side of Peter's face with his fingers. Another snore was all that greeted him.

Caspian sighed, shrugged off his dressing gown, and got into bed. He tucked Peter in a bit more, then lay down to go to sleep.

* * *

Notes: Thanks so much for reading! As always, plz plz feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of CS Lewis' books or characters or actors that play the characters.

* * *

Chapter 3:

It was the same meadow again, on the same lovely summer day. Everything was beautiful and bright, almost too bright. As Caspian turned his head to look around, he was nearly blinded by the glint of green and gold, sun and leaves. The grass was warm and the air was fresh and cool.

Peter was there again, bathed in sunlight. He was smiling again, tugging at Caspian's arm, as if to draw him off somewhere. Caspian smiled back and let himself be pulled, running with Peter over the grassy earth, feeling the breeze in his hair.

With a shiver of laughter, Peter tumbled down a green hill, grabbing Caspian so they both fell and rolled to the bottom. Everything smelled of grass and Peter's skin, and they ended up in an intimate tangle of limbs. He felt like he could rest there forever, cradled by his beloved's arms.

Then, Peter pulled away with a gasp and Caspian knew what was going to happen. The dread settled in his stomach like a rock.

"I'm bleeding," Peter whispered, and once again, he bled. He bled and bled and Caspian couldn't stop it. No matter how much he tried to staunch the flow, or scream for help, or even close his eyes, the blood gushed from Peter's eyes, nose, mouth, and the lines of his scar. It stained the grass at Caspian's feet and he was nearly sick with the stench of it.

He awoke in a cold sweat, his throat convulsing as he tried to cry out in his dream. The morning sunlight blazed across the white bedspread, blinding him for a second. He gasped, grabbing handfuls of the sheets and looking wildly around until he felt the weight of his slumbering husband against his side and knew that Peter was safe.

Relief flooded through him as he saw Peter's face, scarred but rosy with life, nestled against the plump pillow. An arm was thrown around Caspian's waist and the Telmarine king, clutched at it, as if it were a lifeline.

The movement woke Peter, who murmured happily and shifted so he could snuggle up against Caspian's chest.

"Good morning," said Peter, not yet opening his eyes. "D'you sleep well?" When Caspian failed to answer, Peter seemed to notice his distress.

"Are you alright?" he asked, propping himself up on an elbow and peering down into Caspian's pale face.

"N-nightmare," was all the king could manage.

"About what?"

Caspian looked up into blue eyes, wide with concern. "You," Caspian whispered, and closed his eyes tightly. He was afraid if he looked at Peter's face for too long, it would become streaked with blood.

Gently, Peter stroked his face, bringing some warmth back into his cheeks. "Do you want to talk about it?" he whispered.

_How calm he looks!_ Caspian thought. _If he had only seen what I'd seen_. The Telmarine king shuddered like a child. "No. Never." It was too terrible to think about, much less speak out loud.

At once, Peter took Caspian into his arms and pressed kisses to his husband's forehead and cheeks. "It's alright now," he soothed. "It was just a dream. _I'm _alright, see?"

Gradually, as Peter rubbed circles on his back and murmured comfortingly to him, Caspian's breathing slowed and he lost the tight, panicked feeling he had upon waking. He burrowed his face into the crook of Peter's elbow and breathed in his husband's living scent. His eyes fluttered closed and he relaxed, heaving a sigh of relief as the horrible images faded away. It was alright: Peter was _there. _Caspian could smell his skin, his hair, touch him, feel him.

"I wasn't a giant turnip or anything like that, was I?" Peter asked, just as Caspian was about to doze off again. He burst into laughter at the odd statement.

"_What?"_

"Oh, nothing. Just a childhood fear," Peter said sheepishly. Caspian laughed again, feeling so much better by just hearing the sound of his own mirth.

He held Peter and kissed him deeply, rolling over so that they were facing each other, side-by-side. Peter responded by moaning softly and tangling his hands in Caspian's hair. They were pressed close to each other, and Caspian could feel his husband's quickening heartbeat, the shifting and turning that meant Peter was feeling passionate that morning.

"Anything I can do to make you feel better?" Peter asked huskily, running a hand down Caspian's chest.

Peter had always hated wearing underpants to bed, and Caspian felt evidence of that as Peter's nakedness pressed up against his thigh. "Mmm, I think so, yes," he murmured, now keenly aware that it had been weeks since they'd last slept together, and his heart was racing from his desire.

Another deep kiss heated his blood and Caspian took great delight in toying with Peter's tongue.

"Ohh, I love your lips," Peter moaned breathlessly when they parted, then drew Caspian down so they could kiss again and again.

Caspian pushed up the hem of Peter's night shirt, bunching it up around the waist so that Peter could sit up and straddle him. Quickly, the blond unlaced Caspian's sleeping trousers and pulled them down to expose his husband's growing erection. He threw his head back and moaned as he took it between his smooth, pale thighs and started moving his hips in slow circles, hands holding up his nightshirt out of the way. Caspian was gasping at the sensation of it, reaching up to touch Peter's thighs, the exposed skin of his belly.

There was a knock on the door. "Your Majesties!" called a cheery voice from the other side.

"Oh!" exclaimed Peter, cheeks burning. Quickly, he rolled off and pulled his shirt down to mid-thigh, but Caspian groaned in frustration and reached for him again.

"Just ignore them," he urged, and kissed Peter breathless, hand roaming to his husband's naked backside.

"Your Majesties!" the person at the door chirped again. More knocking.

"Mmm, no," protested Peter, and he pushed Caspian away, jumping out of bed to slip on a robe. "Come in!" he called, and a servant threw open the doors to their bedchamber.

Caspian groaned again and buried his face into a pillow. He was hot and ready, and he wanted Peter, but the servants were already filing in, carrying warm towels, trays of breakfast, and heading to the bathroom to draw warm water.

"Sorry," Peter said, patting his arm. "I told them to wake me early. Lucy and Edmund are supposed to be arriving today, you know."

Caspian replied with an inaudible grumble.

Peter smiled and bent down to give his husband a kiss. "We can always do it later," he said cheerily. "Come on, the coffee's hot!"

He headed to the bathroom to wash first, but then turned back and said, almost timidly, "Are you still angry with me? From yesterday?"

Caspian lifted his face from the pillow and smiled at Peter. "Not if you promise to make it up to me later." Peter blushed at that.

All through breakfast, Caspian shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wanting nothing better than to drive all the servants out of the room so he and Peter could finish what they started. But, Peter was chattering happily to the jam-bearing page boys and Caspian had to be content with holding hands and stealing some caresses under the tablecloth.

Later in the day, when Peter was accepting petitions in his presence chamber, he received a love letter from Caspian. A gentleman-in-waiting approached his throne and gave him a piece of parchment, held closed with a gold pin. Without thinking, he opened it and read it.

The first scandalous lines made his face burn red, and he crumpled the paper in his fist. When the next petitioner came to complain against a greedy merchant, the king spoke in tongue-tied stammers.

Caspian was waiting when he came out, an hour later. They fell into each other's arms and kissed, then walked arm-in-arm, stumbling away from the crowd, down the hall into a windowed alcove. In the glass-filtered sunlight, Caspian embraced Peter and kissed his lips deeply, as if he would devour the Narnian king. Hungrily, he mouthed Peter's jaw, ear, and neck, holding him tightly so that Peter arched backwards, bending and gasping at each touch. The dust motes swirled around them, turning golden in the sun then disappearing into the shadows.

A few passionate minutes later, Peter laughed and pushed Caspian away. "That's enough," he said. "We should go!" He started to tie up the laces of his shirt.

"One more," Caspian protested, and once again kissed Peter, who gave in with a soft moan.

"We really should go," Peter panted, after yet another few minutes. "Everyone's probably already there." He finished lacing up his shirt and ran fingers through his tousled hair. Gathering his velvets from where they fell, he smoothed out the wrinkles and slipped them back on, looking around for a clasp that had fallen.

"How do I look?" he asked, once he'd put his clothes somewhat in order.

Caspian chuckled and drew him close again. "Like you've just been in bed with me." Peter swatted him on the arm with a noise of protest. "I can't wait until we can be alone again," Caspian whispered.

When they finally arrived at the front gates of Cair Paravel, everyone had already assembled, ready to greet the Princess Lucy and the returning Prince Edmund. It was quite a grand event, as the Narnian prince had not been home in almost a year.

Shortly after he had reached his teenage years, the sumptuous walls of Cair Paravel became too confining for Edmund, and he left to travel. He had abandoned classrooms and tutors, and learned his philosophy and astronomy from the centaurs, living with them and spending entire nights under the starlit skies. He made his home in many different places: with the forest-dwelling creatures, the cave-dwelling dwarves, the Telmarine magistrates who were all to happy to welcome him, the Narnian farmers and peasants, and anywhere his journeys led him. He honed his swordsmanship on the decks of merchant ships while learning to sail at the same time. He fought pirates and mended nets, then kissed the sand with the rest of the sailors when they reached land after months at sea.

But no matter where or how far he traveled, his letters to Susan were frequent and long. He always addressed her as "My Dearest Susan" and signed them, "Your Loving Brother." Sometimes, he would add, "And give my love to the others." Through these correspondences, she learned that he had attended the perfumed court of the Calormene Tisroc one day, then dwelt as a commoner among the merchants, fishermen, and slaves the next, tasting of the barbarity, blood, and sharp scents of Tashbaan. She read that he had traversed the fog and mountains of Archenland and dove in the Winding Arrow River, just to see how far he could swim, and that King Lune received Edmund dripping wet with only the clothes on his back.

He only came back a few times over the years, and now the court was in a frenzy of tittering anticipation, as Prince Edmund was about to make one of his rare visits home.

The queen was standing next to Rynelf, an eager look on her face as she stared off into the distance, hoping to see riders approaching. Rilian stood off to the side with his nurse, but gave her the slip and quickly ran to Peter as the kings arrived.

They waited. The whole court waited, the finely dressed ladies huddling in their furs. An hour passed. An outdoors luncheon had been set out on long tables, and the page boys scurried to cover the dishes as the food went cold.

Susan grew impatient. "The letter said they'd arrive by midday," she said, starting to pace. She blew on the tips of her fingers to warm them and Rynelf, who had been faithfully holding on to her gloves, offered them to her. She waved him off dismissively.

"We should send out a search party," Susan said. "Something must've happened." She was just about to give the command when someone exclaimed, "Look! A rider!" and pointed into the distance.

They all peered intently and sure enough, a lone rider was riding towards them.

"Why, it's Lucy!" cried Peter.

She galloped her horse right up to them in a clatter of hooves, and a few of the courtiers flinched back as the animal reared. She jumped lightly down from her horse, looking handsome, yet out of place, in her trousers while all the other women there garmented in gowns and skirts.

"Peter!" she cried, beaming, and ran to embrace her brother.

"Oh, I missed you!" he said, laughing, and swung her around before setting her down again. "But where are the others? Did you come alone? I thought you rode out to meet with Edmund."

"I did meet them, but as we were riding back here, Edmund's horse threw a shoe. He's in a town nearby, but he insisted I return to the Cair first."

Out of corner of his eye, Peter saw Susan bite her lip in disappointment. But she smiled when Lucy went to her next and kissed both her cheeks.

And as soon as his intimidating aunt Susan moved away, little Rilian ran up to his cheerier aunt Lucy for his hug and kiss. She laughed for joy and picked him up, letting him tangle his little hands in a few loose strands of her hair.

She set him down afterwards, and as she was straightening up, Peter saw an almost invisible change flicker through her. A straightening of her shoulders, a fortifying breath, and a slight quirk of her lips. She stood and turned towards the assembled courtiers, and in a swift movement, tossed the cap from her head so that a wave of unbound chestnut hair tumbled down her back.

She stood there, poised, smiling, and seductive, and in a minute, the court was surrounding the travel-stained girl, greeting her and adoring her. Some of them were honest and their faces were filled with love, but many of them descended on her like vultures, ready to feast and gorge themselves on her wealth and beauty.

A young, handsome Telmarine courtier bowed to her and kissed her hand. "The sun has returned, and is ever more beautiful than I remembered," he said in his honey-sweet voice. With a flourish, he produced a colorful nosegay and presented it to her as a gift.

"Oh, Rhince," she said breathlessly, lowering her eyes and making her cheeks flush. "It's lovely."

Slowly, smiling coyly all the time, she unfastened her cuff and rolled up her sleeve. She held out her fair-skinned arm as if to take the flowers, but kept it just out of reach so that Rhince had to lean forwards to tie the posy around her wrist, his face coming into intimate proximity to her neck and bosom.

She brought the flowers to her face so that the soft petals brushed her lips. She breathed the scent, closing her eyes and sighing as if she was in ecstasy, and the watching crowd sighed with her, enraptured. She looked up at Rhince through her lashes, eyes shining as if she adored him.

"I took the blooms from my own garden," he said, unable to take his eyes off her. "They were so beautiful and fragrant, I knew only one girl in the whole kingdom who was pretty enough to wear them. Oh, pardon me," he chuckled, ducking his head. "I meant to say that _you _are so beautiful that I knew only these orchids were pretty enough for you to wear, Princess."

Lucy threw back her head and trilled a happy laugh, so that her brown hair shivered and sparkled in the sunlight. "How absolutely charming!" she cried. She smiled mischievously. "Perhaps I shall petition to my brother to have you put in prison, for daring to be more charming than me!" She laughed again and the whole court laughed with her.

"Oh, Mr. Thomas!" she called, pulling back her arm so that Rhince nearly gasped at the loss of her touch. The musician, handsome and smiling, stepped forward and she offered him her other arm, letting the orchid-laden one dangle at her side. He took her small hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, leading her off while the crowd followed.

"Well, there goes Princess Flirt," sighed Peter. He looked over at Susan, expecting a glare of disapproval, but instead saw a wistful look towards the open road, as if the queen was hoping that Edmund would come riding towards them after all.

* * *

* * *

While the other guests milled around the luncheon tables, most of them chattering to the newly-returned princess, Caspian mostly just stared at Peter. Prince Rilian was clinging to one of Peter's arms while the blond drank his ale and bit into his toast. The king would sometimes look down at the boy and ruffle Rilian's hair or touch his cheek. There was such a look of tenderness and love on Peter's face whenever he looked at Rilian, and Caspian thought his husband looked even more beautiful than ordinary, despite his own conflicted feelings towards Miraz's son.

There was a dot of jam on the corner of Peter's mouth. Peter wiped it off with his thumb and, instead of wiping it off with one of the silk napkins, swiped at the red spot with his tongue and drew the sweetness into his mouth. Caspian stared at that puckering mouth, those sticky fingers, and the pink lips that were so kissable.

He walked up to Peter to whisper fondly into his ear, "Looks like Dear Lucy has got everyone entertained. I'm sure our absence won't be noticed. Why don't we leave and finish what we started earlier?" He brushed the bare skin of Peter's throat, feeling his husband swallow.

"Oh!" Peter said lowly, blushing deeply with desire.

Minutes later, they had marched indoors, arm-in-arm, and stumbled into the first empty room they came across.

"But there's no bed here!" Peter gasped, looking around while trying to tear open Caspian's outer tunic.

"We don't need one," said Caspian, then plopped down on a cushioned chair and pulled Peter onto his lap. "We used to do this all the time, remember? Anywhere we could." Whatever protests Peter might have had were drowned out in a deep moan as they kissed.

Peter wriggled and tried to position himself comfortably, but it was an awkward tangle of limbs and grasping hands.

"Ack!" he choked out, when Caspian nearly strangled him on his scarf while trying to take it off. Knees and elbows kept getting in the way and with much difficulty, he straddled Caspian, but his clothes all bunched up and made it almost impossible to move.

"Here, just let me…"

"Don't pull!"

With a yank, Caspian tore Peter's shirt and sent the buttons flying all over the room, rolling across the floor.

"Ugh, look what you did…" Peter complained half-heartedly, before Caspian pulled him down into another kiss.

"Mmm, you taste like jam," Peter moaned, and twisted sideways to nibble at Caspian's ear.

"No, that's you, love."

Deftly, Caspian undid Peter's trousers and reached around to cup Peter's rear, which produced another moan. He could feel Peter quivering all over.

"I want you," said Peter, breath hot at Caspian's neck.

Unfortunately for Peter, the door to their hideaway was thrown open at that moment and in came Lucy and her hoard of adorers. Their cheery voices echoed off the paneled walls, then fell silent in shock. Startled and embarrassed, Caspian unthinkingly tried to stand and Peter went tumbling to the floor, smacking into the armrest on his way down.

The group of neatly-dressed people stopped abruptly at the sight of two half-naked kings, and a few scandalized gasps were heard. Lucy herself, who was at the front of the group, gave a little squeak of surprise.

It should have been funny. It _would_ have been funny, if only for the reason that half of them were giggling behind their hands. But those who weren't laughing were the ones who hated one king but loved the other: Telmarines who adored Caspian as a prince of the royal blood but hated the Narnian usurpers, and Old Narnians who felt the exact same way about Peter.

And though no native Narnian could dispute that Peter and Caspian were rightfully married, some of the Telmarineswould whisper that their marriage was not a marriage. The lovely woodland wedding, where they had held hands in the rain and loved with all their hearts, was slandered as a barbaric ritual, disgusting and unlawful.

They whispered then, in the pretty paneled room, and their eyes glinted with disapproval and disgust.

To Lucy's credit, she did recover quickly for someone who had seen her own brother lying on the floor with a split lip and his trousers down, while her brother-in-law clutched a blue scarf over the obvious bulge in _his _trousers.

Her color came back after just a second and she said rather loudly, "My goodness! Someone go and fetch my brother a chair. Are we so destitute that he has to sit on his husband?" She turned her head to the crowd and trilled her lovely laugh, so that it was a joke because _she _laughed, and they laughed with her.

Caspian used this distraction to pull his clothes back on and offer Peter a hand up. With a few mumbled excuses from Caspian and plenty of blushing, the two kings left the room with their heads bowed, as if they weren't kings at all but naughty schoolboys.

Peter was silent as they left for their own rooms, away from the spectators and Lucy's laughter.

"Well, that went well," Caspian chuckled weakly, once they were safe in the sanctuary of their own bedroom.

"That was absolutely horrid," Peter mumbled, "_and _I've split my lip."

"Here," said Caspian, dipping his handkerchief into some cold water and pressing it gently to the cut. "I suppose the mood's ruined, huh?"

Peter just sighed, then snatched the cloth away and went to peer at himself in a mirror, dabbing distractedly at the wound.

"Are you alright?" said Caspian. When Peter's shoulders slumped in _that _particular way, Caspian knew his husband was upset.

"Did you see the way they looked at me?" said Peter, so quietly that his husband barely heard him.

"My love, I assure you they were all looking at me. I'm very handsome, you know."

"Don't be an ass," said Peter, smashing the cloth into a ball and tossing it away.

"Oh, Peter," said Caspian, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Peter's waist. "The ones who don't like you now never did like you. It's never bothered you before. And besides, I'll wager there are plenty of them who'd like to slit _my _throat."

"They didn't look at me like they wanted to slit my throat, did they?" Peter said harshly, pulling out of the embrace. "They looked at me as if I've sullied your virtue or something. Like I was a… a…"

Caspian sighed heavily as Peter bit his lip in anger and frustration. Even alone with his husband, Peter couldn't say the ugly thing that so many have accused him of being.

"Well, they have no right to judge!" Peter finished with a yell.

Red spots appeared on his cheeks and Peter looked as if he'd very much like to hit something. He jerked away and walked over to a chest of drawers, pulling one of them open and rummaging through a pile of shirts. Linens hit the carpet as he yanked out shirt after shirt, not really picking anything out in particular.

"And the fact that they've been complete _beasts _for years doesn't make it hurt any less," he muttered.

"Let's go away," Caspian said suddenly, and Peter stilled his movements, though his back still heaved with angry breaths.

"What?" he asked, almost wearily.

"Let's go away," Caspian repeated. "Like we used to do all the time. Tomorrow, we'll take two horses from the stables and ride out, just the two of us. Just for a day, let's forget that anyone else exists."

The tense line of Peter's shoulders softened a bit, and he smiled slightly. "Where shall we ride?"

"Anywhere you want. Anywhere at all," said Caspian, coming closer and pulling a ripped linen shirt out of Peter's hands. He touched the flushed face and kissed his husband's lips.

"But you've just returned from Avra," Peter murmured, closing his eyes as Caspian brushed gentle thumbs over his temples.

"Well, now I want to travel again, with you," said Caspian. "Tomorrow, we'll steal away and no one can stop us."

Peter chuckled and shook his head, but Caspian could see in his eyes, a desperate sort of relief.

"What if I want to go home? Visit my parents' house?"

"Tomorrow, we'll go. Simple as that."

"Um… well, alright," Peter said hesitantly, as if not quite believing him yet. Then he smiled, a genuine smile, radiating happiness and Caspian smiled too. In truth, he was weary from his month-long journey and the very thought of traveling again made his bones ache in memory. But, the quite joy in Peter's face was worth it.

"It's decided then!" said Caspian cheerfully, and pecked Peter on the cheek. "Now, if I remember correctly, there's to be a play performed in the Great Hall in honor of our returning prince. Knowing Lucy, she'll be having them perform it anyway, and call it in her honor instead. Shall we go?"

Though Peter was happy enough to take Caspian's arm and walk out with him, he remained gloomy through the play, eyes downcast as if trying to avoid anyone who might be staring at him.

At dinner, Peter cheered up a little, because there was gingerbread. But it seemed that he didn't enjoy the music much, and he didn't talk much or dance. When Caspian tentatively asked how he was, he smiled wanly and picked at his meal.

Dismal as Peter was, Cair Paravel was livelier than usual with the return of Princess Lucy. The feast that should have welcomed back Edmund was now for her, the triumphant princess returning home. The garlands of flowers decorating the tables matched her dress and the musicians were playing all her favorite songs. There was dancing after the gold-plated dishes had been cleared away and she stole everyone's attention then, twirling across the hall, arm-in-arm with her ladies or a handsome young courtier.

Prince Rilian was allowed to stay up late that night, dressed up in velvet and boosted up to the table by piles of cushions on a chair. For Peter, this was a delight, but for Caspian, having the child openly displayed like this always caused some measure of trouble.

That night, as always, there was nothing more effective in distinguishing the Narnians' races than the child's presence. While the Old Narnians approached the chubby-cheeked child with wary politeness, the Telmarines flocked around him and gushed over how well he looked and how big he was growing. They looked on the prince with a calculated pride, and their eyes often fell on the throne where Caspian was sitting, as if they would rather see Rilian sitting there.

One of the Telmarines in particular was very loudly complimenting everything the child said, claiming that he was the best-spoken prince in Narnia. The man, who had taken quite a lot of wine, drank toast after toast to "Our Narnian Prince," nearly tripping over his fancy shoes as he swayed and laughed drunkenly.

Peter first noticed something was wrong when he saw Susan, who was sitting near the child, grow redder and redder with anger. She was clutching her napkin in her hand so hard her knuckles were white.

In the middle of the man's drunken praise, she suddenly stood and slapped the table, shouting something at him. Peter didn't hear what she said from across the room, but she sounded furious.

Rynelf, who was sitting next to her, looked nervous, and Rilian looked frightened. In fact, all those who were sitting nearby looked uncomfortable, except for the drunk fellow. At her outburst, he glanced up at the queen in mild surprise, then a look of scorn crossed his face.

What he said next made the people at the table gasp and Susan flush an even deeper crimson. With two swift clicks of her dagger-heeled shoes, she stepped from behind the table and up to the man's face. She drew her hand back, not in a slap, but in a closed fist. Peter gasped as he saw her swing and break his nose.

Before the man finished his fall to the floor, she had stormed from the hall.

After a moment of shocked silence, the place was filled with cries of shock and outrage. The man on the floor, who had been too stunned to cry out before, now screeched with pain and cupped his bloodied face with his hands. His flailing arms knocked the nearby cutlery to the floor and the crashing added to the din.

"Oh, damn," Peter heard Caspian groan from nearby. Then, his husband was striding quickly across the room to the injured man, trying to get through the crowd.

"The Queen goes too far!" shouted a Telmarine man, red-faced and shaking his fist.

"She's a madwoman! There is a madwoman on the throne!" screamed a lady, which drew several angry shouts from the Narnian courtiers and a hiss from one of the talking cats.

"Sir, I am sorry for what happened," said Caspian, trying to help up the man from the floor. "I apologize on the Queen's behalf and I will send you my personal physician-"

"Damn her!" shrieked the man, staggering to his feet and daring to shove the king's hand away. His chin was dripping with blood as well as spilt wine. "She is a monster, attacking me without any provocation! She should be restrained!"

"_Sir-_"

"Never before have I seen a savage! She's worse than a beast, worse than all beasts! How can such a woman be our Queen? She has the temper of a child and the-"

"Don't you talk about her that way!" Lucy cried shrilly from across the room. "You said something to upset her, I know it! Caspian, tell him."

"Yes, watch your tongue," said Caspian angrily. "You will do well to remember that it's the Queen of Narnia you are slandering. I don't care that she struck you and I don't care that you're drunk; neither will save you if you speak treason."

Some of the people gasped at the word, "treason," a dangerous accusation and not one that Caspian used lightly.

The man looked furious, then frightened, and he glared angrily as if he would dare to shout back. Several tense seconds passed as everyone watched to see what would happen. Then, the courtier seemed to concede. Prying his hands away from his dripping face, he sank into a stiff bow.

"Then with Your Majesty's permission, I shall now retire for the night. And in the morning, I shall withdraw from court."

He wiped his face angrily with his sleeve and turned to face the rest of the hall.

"And anyone else who doesn't wish to be abused as I am now should come with me."

Caspian gritted his teeth to see that there were more than a few that rose from their seats, coming to stand behind the man, a menacing presence. He saw Lucy pale a bit, in anger or fear, and her hands tightened into fists.

"With Your Majesty's permission, of course," said the man, bowing again and spreading his arms out exaggeratedly as a sign of false submission.

"We are more than happy to give our permission," the king ground out. "Right, Peter? Peter?"

He turned to look, but Peter was nowhere to be seen. He had been gone since Susan stormed out.

The Narnian king had been the only to see the tears that came with the fury. She had tried to hide them with her hand while she ran, and Peter had run after her.

Out through the doors he followed her, only to see her skirts flick out of sight around a corner.

"Susan!" he called, and he heard the echo of her groan. "Susan, wait!"

He turned the corner and jogged down the hallway, past the paneled walls and up the stairs to her chambers. At the entryway, just before the guards closed the doors after her, Peter saw her slump against a table. He saw her pull at her hair in anguish. He heard her wail, then the doors were shut and her voice was muffled by the heavy oak.

* * *

The dinner was over by the time Peter returned. He had spent a good deal of time trying to talk to Susan, but she had refused to let him enter her rooms.

There was a hush over the Great Hall. The dirty plates, split wine, and broken fish bones lay scattered on the tables and floors like carnage after a battle.

Caspian and Lucy were gone, as well as most of the people. Prince Rilian had long been swept up by his nurse, right after the ugly incident with Susan and the drunk Telmarine. The few people who were still there were either talking in whispers or sprawled across the tables, drowsy with wine. The servants who were starting to clean up looked morose.

Peter noticed Rynelf was still lounging by one of the tables, and it was obvious he had been drinking heavily. There was a nearly-empty wine jug by him as well as several wine-stained goblets. He was alone and seemed quite miserable.

"So how ish she?" Rynelf slurred, when he noticed Peter walking towards him.

"I don't know. She's locked up tight in her rooms and won't speak to me. What set her off like that, anyway? What did that man say to her?"

Rynelf chuckled mirthlessly and pushed around one of the empty goblets so it rolled. "Well, the fool implied that Rilian was Narnia's one true prince and one true heir, which made her angry. And when she told him to kindly shut his mouth, he then implied that there would be no heirs coming from her because she's barren."

"Oh, dear."

"Yes, indeed. And that's when she took the liberty of breaking his face."

Peter sighed and rubbed the tension out of the back of his neck. "Couldn't she have just thrown a pie at him? We have plenty of those, but the poor fellow only had one nose."

He jumped when Rynelf broke out in overly loud laughter.

Peter looked at Rynelf as he tilted the wine jug again so that the crimson liquid sloshed into his goblet. Tipping his head back, Rynelf drank it all down, still shaking from mirth but seeming bitter at the same time.

"Are _you _alright?" Peter asked tentatively. "The two of you?"

"We're as fine as we always were," came the surly reply.

"Oh. Um, good."

Rynelf snorted. He reached out for his goblet again but ended up knocking it off the table. With a grunt, the man slumped onto the tabletop, arms sprawled out. "No. Not good. _Wonderful_. We're just wonderful. Intimate as ever, but utterly joyless. She hates me, you know. Because we're so damned joyless."

Peter sighed. "I think you've had enough for tonight."

He pried Rynelf's hands away from the drink and hefted the man up into a standing position.

"Come on, I'll take you upstairs," said Peter, taking one of Rynelf's arms and slinging it across his shoulders.

"Oh, yesh, take me upstairs, pleeeease…"

Rynelf clung to Peter like a vise, and Peter walked him, staggering out of the hall. He felt Rynelf's mouth at his neck and he tossed his head, annoyed.

"Stop that," he said.

They made it halfway up the stairs before a low, angry voice stopped them.

"Let go of him," said Caspian, who had appeared suddenly. His eyes were narrowed and he was coming up the stairs behind them.

Awkwardly, Peter turned to face his husband, still holding onto Rynelf.

"I can't," Peter protested. "He's drunk and just about ready to fall over-"

"I wasn't talking to you," Caspian said, looking hard at the Prince Consort. "Rynelf, let go of King Peter."

Peter blinked confusedly.

After an awkward silence, Rynelf slid his right arm off from around Peter's shoulders and removed his left hand from where it had been grasping the front of Peter's shirt, right over his navel.

The man backed away to lean against the railing, looking dazed.

"Peter," said Caspian, a great deal more gently, "Rynelf can make it upstairs on his own. Come with me?"

He held out his hand and after a moment of hesitation, Peter walked down the stairs and took Caspian's hand.

* * *

It was hours later that night, but Caspian wasn't in bed yet. Instead, he was at the table in his dressing gown and reading. Peter, who wasn't in bed either, had decided to let Rilian stay up even later, as a way of making up for the trauma of seeing "Aunt Susan" break someone's nose.

The Narnian King was sitting cross-legged on the carpet with the little prince. Rilian was playing with a kitten that was playing with a ball. Acting rather like a cat himself, Rilian batted the brightly colored toy back and forth. He kept it just out of sight of the kitten so that it kept twisting around and pouncing with cries of "ball!"

The room was filled with giggles, the kitten's squeaks, and the soft crackling of the fire. Sometimes, Caspian would catch Peter looking up and smiling at him and he'd smile back.

It was times like these when he'd feel such a sweet pain. Caspian was enchanted by the touching scene: the pretty child playing to his heart's content while the pretty surrogate father watched over him with such a gentle gaze. He was keeping only half his attention on his book so that he could watch them play. But at the same time, he felt as if there was some invisible barrier between him and _them_, as if that touching scene was somehow too intimate for him to join in.

It almost hurt, watching them.

Soon, Rilian became bored. The cat's movements grew predictable and he gave up trying to toss the ball around, so Peter took over, which left the little prince stretch and look around the room.

His curious eyes rested on Peter's left cheek, and not for the first time, the child stared in disgusted fascination at the ragged scar on his surrogate father's face. With his little hand, Rilian stroked his own smooth cheek, staring, as if uncomprehending how such an ugly thing could mar Peter's face.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caspian saw Rilian reach up for Peter's damaged cheek. Caspian saw Peter flinch and jerk away, and he flinched too.

"Don't touch that," Peter said softly.

Caspian frowned and slipped off his spectacles, putting down the book altogether.

Peter bounced the ball a little so that the kitten would jump higher to retrieve it, but Rilian was still staring.

"Papa, why do you have the thing?"

From Peter's weary look, Caspian could tell it wasn't the first time Rilian had asked that. Peter shook his head. "It's from a long time ago."

"But what is it?"

Peter was silent for awhile before saying, "It's a brand."

"Oh," the child replied, obviously not knowing what a brand was. "Does it hurt?"

"No," said Peter, but Caspian remembered all too well when that wound was fresh. He could still smell the blood, and he remembered the cold, the fear in those blue eyes, and how they had trembled in each other's arms. He could still hear the sickening grind of the executioner's axe, and he wondered if Peter was hearing it too.

"Will I grow one when I'm bigger?" the little child piped.

"Oh, good heavens, no!" Peter laughed and ruffled Rilian's hair.

But Rilian was staring again, and Peter was now forcing his smiles. When the boy reached up to touch Peter's face again, Caspian slammed his book down on the table.

"Rilian, that's enough!" he snapped.

It came out much louder than he'd meant it too, and the angry echo bounced around the room. Rilian jumped, paling and looking utterly distressed, and the kitten was so startled it jumped and arched, claws fully extended and hissing like a snake.

Immediately, Caspian felt like a complete cad at his outburst, seeing as he had just scared the wits out of the two youngest creatures in the room.

Peter looked at Caspian with reproach, though he said nothing. With one arm, he hugged Rilian, who was stunned into silence. With the other hand, he stroked the kitten soothingly until it un-arched and ran whining to his mother, who was sitting in the corner and watching with her big green eyes.

"Um, I didn't mean to shout," mumbled Caspian. He felt guilty, as if he had somehow broken the sweet, fragile tableau that was there before. It was as if his voice had shattered the spun sugar that was Peter, Rilian, and their make-believe family.

Rilian whimpered and burrowed deeper into Peter's arms, which made Caspian feel like a bigger cad.

He sighed and got up from his chair. "Come on, Rilian," he said gently, holding out his hand. "I think it's time for bed now. I'll take you so we won't have to wake Nurse."

"Yes, go on," Peter encouraged softly, when Rilian first shied away.

"Good night, Pa… King Peter," Rilian said, standing and bowing clumsily. He slipped his small hand into Caspian's.

The king led the prince out into the hall and through the torch-lit hallways to Rilian's own rooms.

"Listen," Caspian said, trying to maintain what he thought was a stern but soft voice, one he had heard Dr. Cornelius use so often. "You mustn't talk to King Peter about the brand anymore. Don't try to touch it, don't even stare at it if you can help it. The truth is, he was hurt very badly a long time ago by Mir-… well, he was hurt, and that's where the brand came from. When something bad happens to you, you want to forget about it, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," said the child, looking down at his slippers.

"Well, it's the same for Peter. He doesn't want to remember and you shouldn't keep reminding him. Do you understand?"

He shook the child's arm and repeated the question in a sterner voice when Rilian didn't respond.

"Yes, sir," replied Rilian, just as they reached his rooms.

There was a rosy fire in the hearth when they arrived, and the thick rugs were warm under their feet. Caspian usually didn't spend any time in the prince's suite unless Peter was there, and he was impressed by how cozy it was. It was fit for a prince, yet lacked the chilly grandness of Miraz's nursery, where Rilian had spent most of his days as a baby. Caspian remembered even less of that place, but he recalled many heavy candlesticks and stern-looking portraits that glared down from the walls.

Here, the tapestries on the walls all pictured Narnian tales, or Narnian animals. The ceiling was a deep blue and painted with stars, depicting the Narnian constellations. Over in the corner was a wonderfully painted rocking horse, and on the red saddle was inscribed: "To Rilian." It was a gift from Edmund.

Once they were in the room, Rilian brightened up and he skipped towards his bed, leading Caspian by the hand. Then, the child looked him expectantly as if waiting for something.

"Oh," said Caspian, realizing that Peter or the Nurse probably made a habit of tucking the prince into bed. The king tucked Rilian in, a bit awkwardly. In the process, he dislodged one of the pillows in the process.

Rilian gasped, as only a child who had been caught does, and jumped to pull the pillow back, but not before Caspian caught sight of a stash of sweets.

He sighed. "Give," he demanded, holding out his hand.

Rilian pouted and leaned heavily on the pillow, as if he would protect his brightly-colored treasure. "But they're mine!" he whined.

"And Peter told me that you shouldn't have any at nighttime, especially not under your pillow. Hand them over. Rilian, I mean it," he said, frowning.

With a sigh of childish misery, the boy pulled out a hoard of candies and dumped them into Caspian's hands.

"Good night, Your Majesty," Rilian huffed, pulling the covers up to his chin.

"Watch your tone."

"Good night, Your Majesty," repeated the boy, in a meeker voice.

"Good night, Rilian." He blew out the candles and left.

"Are those for me?" Peter asked, once he returned their room with a handful of sweets.

"If you like," said Caspian, relinquishing them. "I found them under the kid's pillow."

"I _knew_ he was hiding them somewhere!" Peter laughed, and kissed Caspian with peppermint-sweet lips. Caspian felt warm all of a sudden, as if something special had just happened between them, and it had to do with Rilian. He felt as if he had been let in from the cold, into the warmth that was the sugar-spun family, and it was sweeter than the lingering taste of candy.

Smiling, he watched Peter undress before their bed. By the dim light of the candles, he watched as the linen fell away to reveal Peter's bare back, marked with old scars.

"You know I love you, right?" said Caspian, coming up behind him and kissing a naked shoulder.

"Show me," Peter whispered huskily, and Caspian gently ran his hands down Peter's bare chest.

They made love gently that night, Caspian holding Peter close and covering his body with kisses. He savored every touch, every taste and sound of their passion.

Afterwards, as Caspian was about to fall asleep, he thought he heard Peter whisper, "Dream of me."

* * *

Notes: OMG FINALLY updated! I hope there's still people reading this, lol. I'm really, really sorry to have left it this long, but grad school got in the way. (And I must admit, part of the reason I delayed was because I was disheartened by some unkind words, so much that I lost confidence for awhile.) As always, thank you so much for reading and plz feedback and lemme know what you think!!


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